


Whisper

by lokilickedme



Category: Loki - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Devotion, Dom/sub Undertones, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Mental Torture, Mind Rape, Mind Sex, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-19 09:28:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3605040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokilickedme/pseuds/lokilickedme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if the voices in your head weren't exhaustion or insanity, but the God of Mischief trying to clear a path for his descent to Earth?  Would you let him come?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

  
For months he'd been talking to her inside her head, like an echo barely heard over the wind, but at night his voice became clear and she could hear nothing else but him. He threatened violence, he made dark promises of fatal passion, he told her stories of an angry god taking revenge on the universe through the tears and horror of one human female. Her.

She gathered through his words that he was imprisoned. He obviously had plans of escape, and vowed to come to her once he was free. His voice entered her mind with a silky baritone caress that drove a shiver up her spine.  
  
She always closed her eyes when she heard him. She knew he knew it; he had told her many times that he would close her eyes in ecstasy before choking the life out of her with his hands and closing them forever; just his little way of mocking her. He always laughed afterwards, a dark and foreboding sound totally devoid of mirth. It stayed with her for days and echoed in her ears like a memory taking on a life of its own.

He drank in her fear like it was a finely aged wine. Everything he said to her was vile, full of rage and hatred, hissing and spitting curses and threats of depravity until she was weak and trembling and begging him to stop. Her pitiful requests made him laugh. His promises grew worse, more sick and violent, full of threats of rape and torture and blood and pain, till she stopped giving him the pleasure of seeing her cry and vowed to herself to stand strong before him. He would know she was afraid of him, but she wouldn't show it.

He didn't like that. He punished her instantly, describing in lurid detail in a voice dripping with venom that he would kill her for her impudence - but not before he'd ripped her in two, gutting her with his cock as she screamed and pleaded for mercy that would never come. She had bitten her lip hard enough to draw blood, but had kept her mind clear and fought back the tears that burned her throat. When his voice finally left her head, he told her her blood tasted all the sweeter on his tongue for the repressed horror coursing through it. She never doubted he could actually taste her.

As the months passed, slowly and agonizingly, his torments increased. He spent longer hours whispering to her at night, sometimes not leaving her mind until morning light. She spent her days at work struggling to stay awake, growing physically sick from the lack of sleep. She lost weight and began to develop a tremor in her hands.

And then when she was weak enough, his attacks shifted. 

Threats of a bloody painful death were slowly replaced with only slightly less violent promises of long nights of being fucked relentlessly, tied up, beaten, and forced into depraved sexual acts for his pleasure. His voice was no less ominous and menacing, but his tone changed just enough for her to notice, though she couldn't really discern exactly what was different. He endlessly described raping her in shockingly degrading ways, detailing how he intended to take pleasure from her body while she suffered, but the scenarios no longer ended in her death at his hands. He promised now to keep her alive...he was growing quite fond of her sweet submissiveness, he said. No point in killing a perfectly useful pet. He could always do that later, when she began failing to please him. He said it as if he knew it would happen.

 

It had been almost a year, a long agonizing year of him inside her head, when she began feeling differently about his visits. His verbal assaults had again shifted, becoming less violent, occasionally even including a kiss to her forehead or a less brutal spanking if she pleased him well. He began promising tenderness in reward for obedience, always interspersed with raging threats issued at such a dizzying speed that she was often confused whether he was still feeling benevolent or if he was truly angry. His moods flew back and forth, sometimes within the space of a single sentence. Always she felt off balance, but knew that was how he wanted her for some reason. Any time she felt secure, he would shift again and knock her to her knees.

At some point she began realizing that his words made her wet. She wasn't sure if it was the actual words or just the sound of his voice, so silky and mellifluous, calming and soothing against her ear despite the things he said to her...she found herself clenching her thighs together when he used filthy terms to describe her body or what he would be doing to it. She tried to keep this realization from forming into words in her head, because he'd proven countless times that he could hear anything she thought. But despite her best efforts to keep her discomfort hidden from him, he found it.

It was then that he began making her do things. He ordered her to touch herself, but forbade her to take any pleasure from the act. He denied her relief, cruelly and heartlessly, and with great satisfaction. Eventually she found herself begging again, this time for permission to find release from the agony of the neverending arousal he'd enforced on her. He refused.

And she obeyed. 

His words became sweeter, more seductive, less cruel. He told her he desired the heat of her womb and longed to bury himself deep within her to drive away the endless cold. It was the first time he'd revealed anything of his situation other than the fact that he was a captive somewhere, imprisoned unjustly. She found herself wondering if he was lonely. She was surprised to find the thought made her feel sad.

He still veered wildly between something vaguely reminiscent of tenderness and his usual menacingly cruel threats, but his words no longer filled her with the paralyzing fear and chilling dread that they used to.

She'd grown accustomed to him being in her head and found herself missing him if he didn't visit her. She knew he kept silent some nights to punish her, to show her who was in control, and that he was there watching even if he didn't speak. It was on those nights that she lay in bed willing herself to imagine him, drawing on the mental image she'd conjured of his face, making love to her.

She knew he saw these thoughts. She figured one night he would call her to task for them and punish her for the transgression of daring to see him in a romantic light. He wasn't interested in her silly girlish fantasies of a dark haired man with sparkling green eyes and a wide, wicked smile. He only wanted her for -

_For what?_

He'd been coming to her for so long, inhabiting so much of her conscious time, and yet he'd never revealed what he wanted her for. It couldn't just be for sex, although that was pretty much all he promised her. That and a long, drawn out, agonizing death once he'd grown tired of her and had no more use or desire for her. Never mind how he'd found her to begin with...he had just showed up one night, a disembodied voice whispering nasty things in her ear, explaining nothing and demanding complete obedience and subservience from her.

And she had given him what he wanted.

And just as quickly as he had entered her life, he left it.

 

 

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

It was the dead of winter when he returned again. His voice was every bit as silky and seductive as she remembered it, but the angry sharp edge had become jagged again, like he had been at the start. She wondered what had happened to him while they were apart, and why he'd stayed away - but he offered no answer to either question. His intrusion was sudden and jolting, without tenderness. He immediately began wordfucking her as she slept.

She was yanked rudely into consciousness by his heartless words - _Awaken, you worthless cunt_ \- and knew something was horribly wrong. _I have use for you..._

And then he used his most vile, cruel words to rape her mind, hissing threats and describing horrific tortures, leaving her sobbing after he'd taken his vicious pleasure from her.

She woke the next morning feeling broken.

It was days before he came to her again.

 

_Wake up, my pet. There there...are you still angry with me? Shhhh, be still, I don't intend to hurt you. Close your eyes and listen to me -_

_Can you feel me? Still your mind. I'm going to touch you._

She felt it, something very lightly brushing her inner thigh, like a soft breeze barely strong enough to rustle a silken curtain. She sucked in her breath and jerked a little.

_Shhhh, pet...be very still. Clear your mind._

She did as she was told and tried very hard to empty her head of everything. It took some doing, but she was finally rewarded with the sensation of someone breathing on her skin, just below her bellybutton. It was warm and tickled a bit. 

_Is that you?_

_Yes, pet. Relax, let me find my way to you._

She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to stay calm. She soon felt fingertips, cool and strong, stroking her hip and up over her ribcage. Her flesh pricked up with goosepimples.

_Good girl...I want you to rest now. Sleep, so you can be ready for me when I come._

_You're coming here?_

_Soon, my pet..._

 

It was a full month before he did more than just a brief visit and a few whispered words. He sounded tired and she wondered if the effort of physically touching her from wherever he was had weakened him. He didn't do it again, and she found herself longing for it. He knew, like he always knew, and she heard him chuckling softly in her ear.

_Soon, my pet. Patience._

And then he filled her mind with images built around skillfully crafted words, images intended to both arouse and comfort her, using the picture she'd invented of him to show her what he wanted. He showed her an image of them, together in a huge ornately carved bed with emerald silken sheets draping to the floor, their bodies moving together beneath a thin sheer cover that hid nothing from her eyes. She could hear moans of pleasure and knew the voice making the sound was hers, and that the deeper sounds were coming from him. He wasn't raping her like he'd been threatening for all these many months. He was tenderly making love to her, and from the sound of it, the pleasure was being evenly shared.

_Does this please you, little one?_

The change in his tone and the way he addressed her took her off guard. He'd switched from the implied forced subservience of _my pet_ to the personal endearment of _little one_ and there was a gentle lilt in his voice that felt immensely calming. 

_Yes...it does. Thank you._

_No, my sweet...thank you...you've given me a way out._

He didn't speak any more that night, but he left the image in her mind of them in the big bed together. She fell asleep content, almost able to feel his strong shoulder beneath her cheek.

 

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

_Wake up, pet. It's time._

She jerked awake, confused. Time for what? She looked around the room but saw nothing; literally nothing, not her bedroom, no walls and no ceiling, nothing but total blackness.

_Where am I?_

_In a place between worlds. Shhhh...I need you to be very quiet. Lie still. This might hurt._

There was no available light for her eyes to adjust to in the unrelenting blackness, so she closed her eyes tight and cleared her mind. He hadn't told her to, but she knew it made it easier for him to connect with her. She tried not to think about his last words - _this might hurt_ \- and just waited.

She began to sense a presence, like being in a dark forest and knowing that someone is behind a tree nearby. It was unsettling. She could hear a rustling sound, almost like wind but not quite, but when she concentrated on it the sound faded away like it had never been there. 

And then she felt it. It was a pressure, very slight at first, like being buffeted by a strong wind. It grew in strength and intensity until she could feel herself being pushed down into the mattress, but she lay very still like he'd told her. And then the pain hit her.

It was indescribable, a searing, burning, sharp stab of pain in her stomach. No, not her stomach - lower, much lower she realized with confusion. The pressure pushing down on her was now a tangible thing and she could feel something against her skin in the darkness, covering her entire body, both warm and cool at the same time, restricting her movement with its weight. She felt panic race through her nervous system, adrenaline blocking out the gutwrenching pain that she now realized was actually between her legs.

And then she heard his voice, soft and strong against her ear, much closer than it had ever been before. His breath tickled her temple.

_There's my good girl...lie still darling, I'm almost here._

Now she could feel what was pressing down on her. It was his body, alive and solid and very much more than just a voice. She ran her hands up a broad, cool back and felt his skin flinch under her touch. Strong shoulders hovered above her. Long, silky hair fell to tickle her cheek while warm lips breathed steadily against her throat. A muscular thigh was holding her knees apart and her hands moved down to feel narrow hips fitted between her legs. The pain made sense now. He was inside her. He moved gently against her, filling her completely, stretching her inner walls to aching capacity while his cool belly rose and fell against hers. She could see nothing yet in the darkness, but she knew he was there. Finally there.

He touched her forehead with his own and filled her mind with the image he'd given her before, of them together in the beautiful huge bed, as he moved himself upwards on her hips and drove deeper into her.

She cried out and he shushed her gently, kissing her tenderly on the throat before sliding his lips to her ear and whispering sweet words to her. It was the same voice, but with none of the heated menace she'd grown used to. It was only moments before she felt herself relaxing under him and accepting his body into hers without resistance.

She came soon after, her voice echoing in the darkness as the new feeling of release tore a strangled cry from her throat. She felt him shuddering above her as his hot seed spilled into her, burning her torn flesh where he'd broken her. He fell heavily onto her, kissing her with urgency, his arms sliding under her shoulders to hold her tightly to him.

_You've done well, my pet. You will be rewarded for your loyalty._

The words were strained, weak and faint, but the breath from his lips gently blew her hair and she knew he was finally real. He pressed his forehead to hers again and filled her mind with a heavy feeling of drowsiness, till she could fight it no more and drifted into a deep, dark sleep.

 

 

 

To be continued...

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

It seemed like days before they awoke, in her bed, legs twisted and arms entangled, their bodies pressed together and their breath warming each other's faces. She opened her eyes and found herself sore and tired as if she hadn't slept at all.

And then her eyes fell on the face of the man sleeping next to her. It was amazing...it was the same face, the same exact face, that she had created in her mind to give realism to the voice in her head. The same angular jawline, the same elegant cheekbones, the same dark lashes and heavy brow, the same strong lips and pale skin. The only difference between her imagined image and what lay before her was that the nose had obviously been broken at some point. His hair was raven black and fell over his shoulders in long, straight tendrils. He was beautiful.

It took her a moment to realize she could actually see now. The black void she'd found herself in the last time she'd awoken was gone, replaced by the familiar comfort of her bedroom. Sunlight was peeking in through the curtains. One long bright ray fell across the sleeping man's shoulder; she stared at it, her brain trying desperately to wrap itself around what was going on, until the distinctly unnerving sensation of being watched broke into her awareness and her eyes snapped back to his face.

He was awake and staring at her. His eyes were as green as she'd imagined them. They were kind and intelligent and sparkling with something that looked like humor, though she had long given up the illusion of him being any of those things save the intelligence. It was then she realized she was naked, and so was he.

Words failed her. After more than a year of words being all there was between them, she suddenly had none, and he seemed uninterested in offering any. He stroked her arm with one long finger, his eyes lazily roaming over her as she tried to cover herself with the sheet without looking like a shy fool. Her efforts were met with a low chuckle that sounded both familiar and strange.

_Really, pet? After all this time, I'm finally here and you wish to hide yourself from me?_

She didn't know if his voice was in her head or if he was really speaking to her. It gave her the same shiver of dread mixed with arousal that it always had. He reached out one long arm and gently but authoritatively pulled the sheet from her hands and away from her body. Tossing it away from them, he moved swiftly over to cover her with himself and eased her legs apart with his knee. She winced in discomfort when he moved her legs; she remembered the horrible burning agony she'd felt when he appeared and realized she'd lost her virginity to him in that moment. She was very very sore.

_There there my sweet little pet...let me take away that pain._

He began kissing her softly, and once again his voice filled her head - only this time, there were no threats, no violent images, no promises of torment. There were only gentle words of comfort and desire as he brought her swiftly into throbbing arousal and filled her with himself, slowly pulling her with him to the brink of tender passion and then holding her tightly as they plummeted over it.

 

She didn't know how many days it had been since she'd left her bedroom. Night had fallen many times, followed too quickly by morning, and still they remained in her bed. She felt no hunger, no thirst, no need for replenishment of any kind, and all he seemed to need was her presence. At first he'd been weak and tired, the result, he finally told her after a few days, of his long travel. The stress of transporting himself millions of lightyears with only his mind had left him dangerously drained and he needed to regain his strength. It wasn't said, but she understood this to mean he was pulling that strength from her. She was tired but he made love to her frequently, sharing back the energy he was taking away.

She remarked one morning while gazing out the window that she would have lost her job by now, having been gone so long without even a phonecall to offer an excuse for her absence. He chuckled and stroked her bare back with his fingertips, sending a shiver up her spine.

"No, my sweet...I've stopped time for us."

She looked back at him over her shoulder with disbelief. "Really?"

He sat up to kiss the nape of her neck, brushing her hair aside with his hand. "Well actually I've bent time around us, I suppose...we are moving, but not at the same rate as the rest of this world. When you leave this room, you will be in the same moment you were when you entered it."

She worked this out in her head, not wanting to ask for further explanation lest she seem stupid. "Will all this still have happened?"

"Oh yes. We are a fixed point. Nothing can change what has occurred."

She wanted to ask more questions, but he shushed her with his lips against the side of her neck as he slowly pushed her down on the bed. "Silence, pet...no more words."

 

She knew that he was drawing strength from her, that every time he made love to her he drained a little more from her to bolster himself. His pale skin was developing a healthy pink color, his eyes were growing brighter and more lively and his ashen lips became red. His lovemaking became more energetic and forceful as well, though he still handled her gently and spoke comfortingly into her ear as he took her. He was nothing like he had been at the start, when he'd first come to her inside her head and threatened her with bloody murder and depraved assault. He was gentle and kind and even a bit sweet, even as his vigor returned and he became more authoritative in the way he dealt with her. She didn't mind. She'd become so accustomed to his harsh treatment that anything less than brutality was tenderness in her eyes.

 

They left her bedroom together, finally, after what she could only assume was weeks. Nothing had changed; he was right, she exited to the exact same moment at which she'd entered. 

"Return to your life, my pet," he told her. "I will be here."

 

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

She didn't know what he did while she was gone to work, living her life like nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, telling no one about the strange man who had appeared in her bedroom after a year of agonizing mental violation. No one would believe her; why should they? She found it difficult to believe herself. 

He'd begun speaking to her, telling her things that she'd wanted to ask but had refrained from for fear of prying into affairs that were none of her concern. He told her he'd been a king, that his rulership had been taken from him and he'd been imprisoned in the dungeons of his own castle by the man he'd called Father. That his home was far far away, across millions of miles of black endless void, and that he'd begun mapping his escape the night he made first contact with her mind. She'd been his way out, he needed only to form a psychic bond with her; a strong unbreakable bond that would enable him to move between his world and hers. It had taken time, but it worked.

He had smiled and reached out to caress her cheek with his broad palm, an expression of something like contrition in his eyes. "I'm sorry I was so brutal with you, my pet," he said softly. "I couldn't allow you to ignore me or the connection would never have been made. You had to believe I was real and listen when I spoke. Regrettably, fear is always the best motivator when you need someone to pay attention."

She nodded her understanding, but he knew she had other questions that needed answers. He saw them in her mind, their connection still strong even without spoken words. He could see her thoughts and had been considering the best way to explain what had happened to her, in a way that she could understand - and more importantly, in a way that wouldn't drive her away from him.

"You see darling, it had to be this way...our bond had to be strong, and the strongest bond between two beings is most often sexual. I suppose love would be stronger, but I couldn't force you to love me." His face grew soft, his eyes kind. "But I could force brutality upon you until you feared me enough to allow me access to your mind any time I chose."

She didn't speak, so he continued.

"When two beings engage in sex, their minds clear, and if they're bonded, they can find their way into each other mentally - not just physically. This was what I needed from you...your mind clear and connected to me so that I would have a place to go. And eventually, when that bond was strong enough and you were ready, I would be able to physically come to you as well."

He knew this was all new to her - not only the physics and magic, but the workings of physical connection. When he had torn himself apart molecule by molecule and sent himself to where she was, he had by necessity re-formed himself attached to her both physically and mentally, since her mind was their link and her body was his physical portal. Their connection had always been sexual and as a result his reformation in this realm of existence had to be too. So his body had rebuilt itself in the form in which his mind had sculpted, which was the act of sex with her. And as he had regained his awareness and become cognizant of her presence, he had felt his body putting itself together against her, on her, and in her. He'd felt her break and tear inside, sensed her pain and confusion, and though he pitied her this violent denouement, it had been necessary. Part of him felt pleased that she'd been a virgin, _his_ virgin, and that his arrival in her world marked the final step in her becoming totally and completely his. She had been untouched until he touched her. Another part remembered her tears and the pain she'd felt, and his remorse over having taken her without warning made him wish only to bring her comfort and pleasure in his arms. He knew this confused her since she'd known him to be cruel and brutal for so long, but he sensed the discrepancy wasn't unwelcome. She accepted him willingly, with compassion and respect, and thus far had obeyed him without question.

He told her of the world he had grown up in and the world he'd been stolen from, the people he'd thought to be his kind and the race he found to be his kin. She felt the anger and blackened rage in his words when he spoke of his betrayal and imprisonment. And then Asgard had fallen, and he'd been left there, alone, confined in a glass cage, the forgotten last living survivor of a war that wiped two races from history. Two races that lived in him.

He had begun his connection with her long before the war, planning his escape as a means for revenge against his own mutinous family. But a sudden turn of events had escalated the battle and both armies ploughed forward into mutual destruction, taking everything with them before he could succeed. Taking everything except him. 

He had been released from his cell when the city's power grid ceased functioning, weeks after the end of the war. Starved and weak, he'd wandered aimlessly, taking in the destruction and reassessing his plans.

There was nothing for him here, he would die alone slowly on a darkening planet devoid of people until someone from a neighboring galaxy chose to claim it - and then he would be a fugitive, hiding out in caves in the mountains, or he would be captured and taken into slavery. He chose instead to continue with his original plan, only now he didn't need her to get him out of his prison cell so that he could seek revenge...he needed her to save his life.

And save it she had. She'd handed herself to a stranger that may or may not have even existed anywhere except in her imagination, trusting him without question or hesitation, and had allowed her body to be used as a bridge to carry him into her world. And then when he was there, she'd allowed him to use her, to leech energy from her to replenish his own strength at the cost of her own vitality, nurturing him during his weakness until he was strong again. She gave selflessly to him, so he returned her kindness with a tenderness of his own, rebuilding her image of him from the heartless monster she'd known into the kind, gentle lover she now found in her bed. He didn't need to be ruthless anymore...there were no more kingdoms to conquer, no throne to rule from. Aside from still having his powers, he was essentially the same as everyone else on this world. He made an effort to curb his natural inborn tendency toward superiority by asking nicely instead of issuing demands, making polite requests as opposed to barking orders, and saying thank you. It was easier than he had imagined it would be. 

He watched TV while she was at work. It was an effective learning tool through which he learned the habits and customs of humans, their behavior, how they dressed and acted toward one another. He would have to fit in if he wanted to stay, and since there was nowhere else for him to go, he had no choice. She brought home clothing for him to replace the sweatpants and teeshirt he'd been wearing from her pajama drawer; they were baggy and huge on her, but he was at least a foot taller than she was, so even though he was lean through the body and could wear them, they were still short on him. She brought him blue jeans and shirts, but told him he would have to come with her to buy shoes because she couldn't begin to guess what size he wore. He agreed. It was another week before he consented to leave her apartment.

He soon found his powers were useless in this world. Without enemies to vanquish or opponants to conquer, there seemed to be no need for his strength, nor his conjuring skills. Magic wasn't prevalent and he immediately realized that using it would garner him unwanted attention, so he sadly refrained from utilizing his abilities outside the apartment. Eventually the crackling energy in his fingertips stopped tempting him. When he occasionally let a spark loose to startle an unsuspecting human in public, he chuckled with mischievous glee, but the thrill of it was soon lost to him. 

With regret and melancholy, he accepted his new role as a human, putting away both his Asgardian and Jotun identities. He needed neither of them anymore, and holding onto them served no purpose.

 

The woman he'd bonded with had given him her name, but he still referred to her as his pet. To him it was a term of endearment, not ownership, but she still flinched sometimes when he said it. It made her remember how he was at the beginning, when he took so much perverted delight in telling her she would belong to him until he chose to kill her. He sometimes regretted those words, although he knew they had been necessary and had enabled his successful escape. So much of his survival throughout his life had depended on maliciousness, cruelty, deviousness. He told her he was sorry and she had accepted his contrition, but he still refused to use her name.

He'd given her his name as well - Loki Laufeyson Odinson of Asgard, Ruler of the Nine Realms and King of Asgard and Jotunheim.  It was a bit of a lie, at least some of it...but he was the God of Lies, so he indulged himself this bit of fibbery.  He resisted the playful urge to order her to kneel, although he had noticed her head bowed almost imperceptively when he said "King".

He began to feel something he hadn't felt in a very long time.  He began to feel love.  Love for a human, no less - something he had never expected to allow himself, or to even long for.  And much to his surprise, it wasn't an unwelcome thing.

 

 

_To be continued..._

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

_What I could not give to you in life, I offer you in death, my son. I give you the gift of mortality, the ability to live and die with the mortal with whom you have found love. The ability to grow old along with her, to have a family and never know the pain of living centuries beyond those you treasure. I grant you peace and contentment, so that you may find your happiness. If you choose to accept this gift, you need only touch the runestone, and it will be granted._

He touched it without hesitation.

 

The dream, he knew, wasn't a dream, although with time he began to think of it as such.  He'd been living as a human for so long now that he often caught himself seeing things their way, no longer identifying magic and mysticism in the universe's mysteries, instead assuming trickery, natural phenomena, and sometimes simply unexplainable science.  But there was no doubting Odin had visited him.  The runestone's etched inscription was burned into the palm of his hand.

 

His skill at potionmaking served him well, for Earth had an abundance of naturally occurring herbs and elements that were both easy to find and cooperative to work with. He learned of their uses and spent his days experimenting, mixing and distilling and measuring, creating elixirs and medicines for whatever ailment he saw on the news or read of in the papers.  The woman he loved used her business connections to get his inventions into the hands of people who would do the best good with them, people who would never question the source behind the miracles. They attended functions together occasionally as Professor and Mrs Odinson, a minor dishonesty that made them share a secret grin every time they heard themselves referred to as such, though the Professor was seen as somewhat of a recluse who preferred to work alone and disliked public appearances in general and the scientific community in particular.  Nobody questioned his quirks or his desire for privacy; he was known to be temperamental, and strange things seemed to have a tendency to occur around him when he became annoyed.

 

His woman never left his side; in all their years together, she showed him unconditional love, with an unspoken understanding that he was different.  She made allowances for his impatience, his occasional anger and intemperance, never judging him, not knowing that _this,_ this willingness to accept him as he was and not belittle him for his differences, was what he had longed for his entire life.  He'd never been accepted as he was, and the things that set him apart from his people, the things that _should_ have made him unique and admirable, had only served to keep him from fitting in with them.  But this woman took him as he was, and gave him her love without reservation.  He returned it with gratitude, never forgetting it was she who had given him a gateway from certain death.

She bore him three sons in quick succession, a firstborn and a set of twins, followed by two daughters. His sons were strong and handsome, the firstborn bearing a striking likeness to him and the twins being a mixture of himself and his wife. His daughters were beautiful and of delicate stature, with his fine bone structure and coloring. Of the two girls, the oldest was most like him in behavior and bearing, but the youngest had the face and demeanor of his wife. He found himself partial to her from the day of her birth, carrying her in his arms or on his shoulders so often that his wife expressed concern that the child would never learn to walk.

He taught the boys the fighting skills he had learned as a child on Asgard, and spent equal time showing the girls how to gather and classify the various herbs and plants in his garden. They grew into kind, strong, respectable adults, and his heart swelled with pride every time he looked at them. He would never have thought such a thing possible.

He often laughed at the turn of events that found him living a normal, quiet life, with a human wife and droves of children. His brother, who had loved Earth and longed for marriage to a human female, had died in battle, wifeless and childless, while he, who had despised weak mortals and everything to do with them, was now living out his time in domestic bliss on the planet he'd once sworn to rule. It was ironic. His poor brother...he caught himself wondering from time to time what sort of death he had suffered. He hoped it was an honorable one. He was sure it had been.

He lived his life, watching in wonder as his raven black hair slowly gained silver streaks at the temples and his face took on the lines and creases that come with human age.  But the lines in his face were the sort that come with great happiness, with much smiling and laughter, with intense emotion and deep feeling.  The older he got, the more he found himself satisfied with himself and his lot in life.  Satisfaction had never been in his nature...he was surprised to find that it suited him.

 

When Loki, Ruler of the Nine Realms and King of Asgard and Jotunheim finally died, he was very old, very content, and very loved. His wife and children were with him, gathered around to blanket him with their affection as he passed. It was peaceful and he was smiling, his still-bright eyes shining with adoration at his wife as she held his hands and kissed him.

_Goodbye, my King._

_Farewell, my pet._

 

 

 

 


End file.
